


Death only draws us nearer, dear

by Give_Me_A_Karking_KitKat



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Death via falling off a balcony, Dissociation, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Rosemary Griffin is a BITCH, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Ideation, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is self-indulgent in the most godawful way, Trauma, Verity has a bad time, Verity is 17 rip, technically, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Give_Me_A_Karking_KitKat/pseuds/Give_Me_A_Karking_KitKat
Summary: Snapshots of how Verity's life falls apart.(An au where Henry goes to the meeting instead, and dies instead)
Relationships: Verity Abraham/Henrietta Trilling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Death only draws us nearer, dear

"I can't go Henry, I just can't." Verity says, almost hysterical. "I can't bring myself to face that woman!"

She lets out a cry, and curls further in on herself. By her side, Henry comes to a decision. She puts an arm around Verity's shoulders comfortingly.

"Then I'll go instead, Vers. You don't need to go."

⁂

"She's not your daughter!" Henry yells, furious with Miss Griffin for behaving the way she is.

"Don't you _dare_ say that! I gave birth to her!"

"That doesn't make you her mother!"

⁂

A shove. A startled gasp. It's an accident.

A terrible, terrible, accident.

⁂

Blood. Blood everywhere, the gym floor crimson with it.

⁂

Henry doesn't return. Verity stays up the whole night and Henry **doesn't return.**

⁂

"It is with deepest regret that I come to inform you that Henrietta Trilling died last night, after jumping from the gym balcony. This has brought to our attention..."

Miss Griffin's lips still move, but Verity can't hear a word she's saying. She feels disbelieving tears well in her eyes, and she puts a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Henry wouldn't.

**Henry wouldn't.**

⁂

What has Miss Griffin done? Henry didn't commit suicide. But she has no proof. She can't do anything.

If Henry were here, she'd know what to do.

But Henry isn't here.

And Verity's damn sure Miss Griffin had killed her.

⁂

"Verity, Miss Griffin would like to see you in her office."

Something heavy and leaden settles in her stomach. Dread fills her very being, and she cannot help but be afraid.

⁂

"It was really your fault, you know. If you'd just come instead, I wouldn't have gotten so angry."

Verity flinches.

"And regardless," a cold smile spreads across her lips, "no one would believe you."

⁂

Her hands are shaking, she notices. Shaking like she is freezing. Except she isn't cold. She isn't really anything at all.

⁂

"Mother." The word tastes sour on her lips, "I have work to do, I really don't-"

"Verity, dear." A smile like ice, "come here."

⁂

Her name is crossed out. Her name is Verity Abraham, it is it is it is. Verity Abraham. Verity Abraham.

Desperately, she turns to the seat next to her, "Henry, do you-"

Oh.

Verity sprints from the room almost as fast as that realisation hits, ignoring Miss Parker's shouted, "Get back here!"

Abandoned on her desk lies the corrected assignment. The name 'Verity Griffin' is scrawled on the top in red ink.

Verity Abraham isn't real. Not anymore.

⁂

Where are her letters? Her parents send a letter monthly at _least._ Where are her letters?

She needs those letters. Surely her parents wouldn't just _stop_.

Would they?

⁂

Someone has gone through her room. They'd gone through her things. She needs to hide her diary better.

⁂

It is 5am. Her letters are there!

Someone has been taking them.

⁂

Home for Christmas. Was this her home? Her parents were worried. Were they really her parents?

Verity is confused.

She doesn't deserve loving parents.

⁂

Rumours follow her like a bad smell.

"She's never been quite the same, you know."

"- haven't seen her smile since **it** happened."

"Her friend committed suicide, right? I wonder-"

Verity's hands shake.

⁂

Miss- Mother wants to see her more often. The only way to stay safe is to do what she asks.

The office starts to feel a lot like hell, but maybe this is her punishment for killing Henry. For loving Henry.

Verity is not all there anymore. She is cold and detached, like her Mother.

⁂

Maybe if she-

No, that is wrong.

Henry would be so ashamed of her.

But the option is still there, pressing against the back of her brain like a particularly insistent salesman.

It's so tempting.

⁂

Verity's skin itches, like something is crawling under it, and she wants nothing more than to escape. But Mi- Mother keeps her close, and she can't leave. She is trapped, caged.

Sometimes she wants to-

⁂

~~Scream, cry, mourn, shout, yell, rage, _hurt_~~

⁂

M- Mother haunts her dreams as well, and she gets more and more restless.

She grins like the Cheshire cat, and everything around Verity crumbles.

~~Henry, her love, turns to dust right in front of her, and blows away in the breeze.~~

⁂

Sometimes she wakes up screaming.

⁂

Summer holiday and she can't go home. Does she really have a home? She can't do what she wants. She has to stay with Mother.

She has to be the perfect daughter.

⁂

Her hands tremble when she sees Mother, and she can't flinch away. She has to be perfect. Perfect daughters do not fear their Mother.

⁂

She is head girl. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want anything. This was going to be Henry's. She's taken this from Henry.

Henry should be here. Not her.

⁂

She can feel the eyes of everyone on her. Can they see her guilt?

It's her fault.

⁂

If she were less selfish, Henry would be alive. If she were less rude, Henry would be alive. If she were less _wrong,_ Henry would still be alive.

If she were less, everything would be better.

⁂

If she were less stupid, her grades would stop falling.

⁂

Verity curls into herself, collapsing like a star, only no one sees the explosion.

She is just gone, and a shell of herself remains.

⁂

Verity spends a lot of time sitting outside her body, watching as it goes through the motions. She is not fast enough to get her parents letters. She is slow and sluggish and tired, and she does not sleep well. She does not eat well. She is not herself, anymore, because Verity Abraham doesn't exist. She was weak, anyway.

She settles into empty nothingness like a new coat.

⁂

In her dreams, Henry dies a million times over, and it is all her fault. She is never _enough_ to save her. Not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough. She needs to be perfect but it is so _hard,_ to be something she is not.

In her dreams, Henry despises who she has become, the very opposite of herself. She hates her for all her failures.

She sometimes finds herself wishing to join Henry anyway.

⁂

Miss Bell said she was going to fix things.

Is it that obvious she was broken?

She can't let anyone find out, she can't let _Mother_ find out.

She needs to be perfect.

⁂

Someone has gone through her diary. Someone has gone through her _diary._ This is bad.

She should have hidden it better. But she didn't think- because she is not smart enough.

⁂

Miss Bell is dead. Miss Bell is **dead**. Oh God. What has her Mother done?

Verity's hands shake.

⁂

She is summoned to the office only the day after Miss Bell's untimely death, and she cannot slow her breathing.

⁂

"Did you tell her?"

"I swear I didn't say anything, Mother! Only..." The hand around her wrist tightens. "Someone went through my diary."

Her Mother's face falls behind a mask of deceptive calm, and Verity fights the urge to shudder.

Perfect daughters aren't afraid of their Mothers.

"Daughter." Her Mother sneers, fast twisting, "Tell me where your wretched diary is, and we can ignore this ever happened."

Verity shakes her head, pulling against the grip on her hand frantically. She can't let her Mother get her hands on the few letters she'd managed to keep from her parents.

The sneer turns darker.

⁂

Her arms hurt. Her wrists ache. Mother still does not know where her diary is. It almost feels like success.

⁂

She puts her diary in the coat rack. Somehow, her usual spot under the floorboards seems unsafe, under her Mother's extra scrutiny.

⁂

She smells the ipecac on Daisy's breath, sweet and sickly, and she wonders why on earth they want to skip class.

⁂

There are rumours of girls going out at night near the old wing and the smashed window, and Verity _knows,_ suddenly, sickeningly, that Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong are investigating. If her Mother gets her hands on them she doesn't know what she'll do.

She refuses to let anyone else die because of her.

⁂

She keeps her Mother distracted for as long as she can, even though it hurts. Maybe, she dares to hope, the third-years will solve the case. She doesn't want to be chained to her Mother.

It's so selfish of her.

⁂

She gets a note from Miss Tennyson, asking to meet her at the tea house. It is too much like another note she got, and she cannot bring herself to go.

⁂

Miss Tennyson did not commit suicide, she didn't she didn't she didn't. It's all her fault.

Her Mother smiles like the devil.

⁂

The police arrive. Can they see her guilt? It's her fault. She has blood on her hands, and she is an adult now. Will they hang her?

⁂

She sees the third-years slip out at night (she has long since given up on sleep) and feels a jolt of terror. She knows what her Mother will do to them if she finds them, so she follows after.

⁂

It is her between them and her Mother, and she is _terrified_.

"Verity? What are you doing here? Let me past!"

"No!" Verity yells, sharp and furious and scared, repressed hatred and fear and scorn tumbling out of her like a raging river, "I can't let you hurt anyone else!"

Her Mother's face twists, ugly and mean. She raises the hand holding the torch and-

⁂

"Oh Verity, I'm sorry."

"No you're not." Verity rasps, shooting her Mother one last defiant glare. Blood oozes sluggishly from the wound on her head, and she is quietly thankful she thought to leave a hint as to where her diary is.

And then she passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, this came about cause I was rambling with Clickety and Wanted.


End file.
